A Conversation
by Traviosita9124
Summary: Mary and Marshall walk into a bar... and have a little chat. M/M, one-shot and smut-free for once .


This came to me after watching "The Born Identity", specifically when Theresa bit Marshall's head off when he greeted her oh-so sweetly… I wonder why…

I also based this idea off two friends of mine that are perfect for each other, know it, and what's more ACKNOWLEDGE they're perfect for each other, but always seem to miss their chance, no matter how many they get.

This was pumped out in about an hour and a half, so I apologize if it's not perfect. I really wanted to get it posted before the next episode. Rated T for language, mostly, and some mentions of sexual situations.

Enjoy, and please review.

-Katie

* * *

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_  
_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_  
_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—_  
_I took the one less traveled by,_  
_And that has made all the difference._

-Robert Frost, "The Road Not Taken"

* * *

She felt him walk into the bar before she actually saw him.

It was uncanny, how at time she could feel his eyes on her back. Mary would never admit it, but knowing he had his intense, longing gaze trained on her always sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine and left heat pooling in her belly. It always felt good to be physically wanted by a man; she refused to think about what else Marshall could offer her on top of physical satisfaction. It just hurt too much to think about and that just confused her. She hated to feel confused.

She stopped that train of thought when he entered her peripheral vision. He was all sharp angles and bright blue eyes and badge and it made her heart leap. She kept her eyes trained forward and took a pull on her Blue Moon as Marshall ordered from the bartender and sat next to her.

"So," he said, looking at her as the bartender slid his own bottle of Heineken in front of him, "you want to tell me why you decided to drag me out for a drink on a Monday night? The week's just started; you can't have done anything too terrible already."

He rolled up his shirt sleeves and took his first drag of beer.

Mary wanted to kiss every inch of newly exposed skin and work her way to more sensitive parts. She had felt jumpy all weekend, almost like she had when Eps blew into town, as if her skin absolutely needed a man's touch. _A Mann's touch_, she thought to herself and quickly scolded herself for the bad pun.

"Mare, do you hear me?"

She let her hair cover her face to cover for where her mind had been wandering and buy time to get it together and ask her next question. She decided to go for shock factor.

"So, Marshall, how long have you been fucking Theresa?"

Mary tried not to let her smile become too smug when she heard him choke on his beer and the bottle hit the counter. That had done the trick.

* * *

_How the FUCK did she know that?_

Marshall found himself staring at his partner in disbelief as he tried to not choke on his beer.

He knew that Mary knew of his feelings. He knew that she returned his attraction to some degree, if not the love he felt for her. He had realized he was in love with her two years into their partnership; he knew the feelings were returned at least somewhat when he was shot two years after that. But she had stayed with Raph, and good friend that he was, he only pitched a fit when he thought she compromised his security on top of hers. He kept his tightly held control through a series of one night stands and brief flings, the number of which had jumped greatly when her engagement ended abruptly a few months ago.

The latest of which was Theresa Simmons, found on a Friday night when he had brazenly (and mistakenly) decided that what he needed to banish his fiery blonde partner from his mind was the cool, calm caress of the accountant.

However, "How the fuck do you know that?" was the best response he could muster on such short notice.

Mary gave a slight snort as she swallowed her mouthful of ale. "How about because she's been walking around the office shooting daggers out of her eyes at you, shortly after you were blatantly staring at her ass?"

He gave her an annoyed look and went back to his beer. What was he supposed to say to that? Mary was an Inspector with the U.S.M.S., of course she had noticed such things happening between himself and the newest woman in the office.

"Or, if that's not enough for you, how about the fact Stan asked me why she would snap at you about my fund request for our hobo hero's makeover?"

Marshall forced himself to meet her knowing gaze with a deep-chested sigh.

"Mare, do we really want to do this?"

They both knew what "this" was. It seemed like every 18 months, give or take a few weeks here or there, they had what he had started to think of as "The Talk".

When it happened, there was always liquor involved; the most memorable one yet had involved a big bottle of tequila and ended with Mary sleeping on a lawn chair on the roof of the Sunshine Building while he had bunked on the conference table. The venue always changed. By his count they had had The Talk on her sofa, once at the office and once on his porch; this, surprisingly enough, was the only one to happen in a bar to date.

They both finished their beers at the same time and let silence settle over them; they both took the time to decide if they wanted to jump into this yet again.

When the second round was set before them, Marshall was the first to take the plunge.

"I spent the weekend with her. Friday night to Sunday morning, and on that Sunday morning, I ducked out of her apartment and tried to act on Monday as if nothing had happened. That's when the shit hit the fan."

* * *

She found it surprisingly hard to hear him admit to the tryst with Theresa.

She knew he had had women and flings, but her relationship with Raph rendered them easy to ignore. But now, cut free from the tether or her ill-fated engagement, she couldn't help but realize what her partner was up to and recognize how much his latest affair bothered her. Not that she'd ever let it show.

"So, Theresa wasn't down for a fling?" She tried to be nonchalant about her probing question.

"Not in the least. She was more than a bit offended when I told her I had no plans of sleeping with her again after I left her apartment. Hence, her pissy attitude last week."

"Huh," Mary grunted thoughtfully. "Do you regret not making it anything more?"

"Not in the least. She was a… distraction from what I really want." Mary felt her chest ignite at his words, just like they always did during these talks when he subtly admitted to that he longed for her.

"And what do you really want, Marshall?"

* * *

He wanted to quit playing this game.

He was tired of it. He wanted to know where he stood once and for all, if she ever saw this going anywhere. He couldn't bear to have this talk yet again and have nothing come of it. With a sigh, he resolved to tell her as much.

"I want to never have 'The Talk' with you again, Mare."

"'The Talk?' What talk, Marshall?"

He gave her his patented "Don't play stupid" look.

"You know 'The Talk'; it's the one where we trot out all of our frustrations with each other. We want each other, we're perfect for each other, we know about the job and we know not to ask questions. But there's always something in our way. Why is there always something in our way, Mare?"

He watched her nervously scratch at the label on her bottle.

"Stan. If Stan found out…"

"What would he do? He slept with a witness his first time out on the job. I somehow doubt he does anything about it if two of his inspectors are sleeping together, especially if their professional relationship doesn't deteriorate. Stop making excuses, Mare, and tell me why we never have our shit together."

He watched with compassion as she took a deep breath before jumping in feet first.

"If I believed in Fate, I would say it's laughing at us." She continued as he patiently watched her. "Here we are, in a ridiculously dangerous line of work with no one we can really share our lives with other than each other. But every time we get close to something, every chance we have to open up, to talk, to be together, there's something or someone in the way. Whether it's my ex-fiancé, drug charges being brought against my sister, witnesses acting up, your old college TAs or U.S.M.S. psychologists or office accountants, we just can't seem to get our shit together. But here we are, so close to what we both know would be so, so good, but neither of us will make the first move.

"Fate is laughing at us, and despite the four guns and 35 plus years of service between the two of us, we'll do nothing about it at the rate we're going. Fate laughs and we cower."

He can feel his heart pounding against his ribs with sadness at her words; they all ring true. She polished off her beer in three long pulls and slapped her bottle down on the polished bar top before plunging on.

"I'm sick of cowering, Marshall. I'm not good at it. I don't feel 100% ready to start a new relationship, but I am 100% sure that I do not want to ever have this conversation again without us having given it some kind of honest shot. No more excuses, no more hints, no more regrets."

Mary dug in her pocket for money to pay her tab. Marshall could see $40 in her hand as she set it on the counter next to her empty bottle. Her warm breath dancing across the skin of his cheek forced him to sit up at attention.

"I want to laugh at Fate, Marshall. I want to prove that no matter how often life has kicked me in the teeth, I don't take it lying down. I want you to prove that with me."

With a brief kiss on the cheek and the gentle, seductive sway of her hips, she was out the door, leaving nothing but rumpled bills on the glossy oak surface… along with a motel key.

Marshall recognized the key. It was from a place down the way, a place they've stashed witnesses countless times. It was a place where no one would question his or Mary's presence. Quickly, he finished his beer, left his own money next to hers and palmed the key. He wasn't going to cower before Fate either, he decided.

No one noticed or even heard him as he made his way out of the bar into the night, mumbling to himself, "Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

* * *

Fin


End file.
